


The Dread of Something After

by stardustgirl



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Violence, Drinking to Cope, Falconry, False Identity, Gaslighting, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insanity, Inspired by Hamlet, Manipulation, Non-Chronological, Poisoning, Regicide, Scheming, Suicide, Treason, Underage Drinking, Unreliable Narrator, Vaguely Inspired by The Princess and the Pauper, and I mean VAGUELY, hamlet is my absolute favorite so like i needed to make an au, mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: This is not the first time Ezra has killed a king.|~~~|When the king's advisor takes him off the streets, Ezra is drawn into a treasonous plot against his will and is forced to keep up the pretense of being a boy he knows to be dead.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Darth Maul, Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. The First

**Author's Note:**

> Title from William Shakespeare's _Hamlet,_ which this AU is loosely inspired by.
> 
> TW: Blood, Mention of Character Death, Hypothetical Animal Death, Implied Suicide, Kidnapping, Child Abuse, Manipulation

This is not the first time Ezra has killed a king.

He stands on the dais, blood dripping from the blade of his rapier as he stares down at the puppeteer’s lifeless eyes, frozen in a blank stare he knows will haunt his dreams.

“Dev.”

He turns at the call, pain contorting his features. “Dev Morgan died two years ago,” he whispers hoarsely, “out in the woods under Maul’s blade.” Kanan still stands there, a hand outstretched.

“Then come with us as Ezra Bridger.”

“Can’t,” he says, still in a whisper, as he shakes his head. “They’ll track me. They have enough of my possessions it won’t be hard to give the hounds a scent.”

“Then we’ll kill the hounds. Just _come with us._ ”

“And _I_ said I _can’t._ I won’t endanger you, or the others. Go. I’ll tell them what happened, tell them- tell them that you weren’t involved. You don’t have to worry.”

“I _do._ I won’t let them kill y—”

“My last order as king is for you to _go!_ ”

Kanan holds his gaze a moment longer before nodding slowly. “You know where to find us?”

“Of course,” he mutters. Kanan nods once more.

“Good luck.”

As the swordsman turns and strides away, Ezra shakes his head. “Don’t need luck,” he mutters to himself, removing a vial from his pocket. “Just need this.”

He uncorks it and swallows.

* * *

_Three Years Earlier_

“Boy! C’mere.”

Ezra approaches warily, gaze up and darting from face to face as he reaches the group of men standing in the corner.

“What?”

“Boss told us you ran from him today.”

“I didn’t run from no one,” he mutters, glaring up at the older thief through a curtain of dark hair.

“Boss says you did.”

“Yeah? And where _is_ the boss?” he snaps, anger growing in his chest.

“Right here,” a smooth voice says.

Ezra’s eyes widen as a man steps into view from the shadows. The same man, he realizes, who he ran from earlier today. He tries to bolt.

And barely makes it two feet.

One of the older thieves grabs his arm, pulling it and his other arm behind his back. Ezra grunts, struggling and biting and kicking and screaming to get free.

No one else in the thieves’ den spares him so much as a glance.

The man drags him back around to face the boss, even as he spits and screams like a feral cat. The boss doesn’t blink, only steps forward enough to take Ezra’s chin in his hand and force it up. Ezra gets it out of his steel-like grasp only after several seconds of struggle, curling his lip and spitting at the man.

“He’s the one. Bring him to my carriage.”

“I’m not goin’ with you to some kriffin’ _bro—_ ”

“Hush, boy,” he orders. “You won’t be unless you significantly disappoint me, and even then I’d prefer to kill you.” Ezra hates the fact that he obeys.

* * *

_Hours Earlier_

Ezra doesn’t think much of it when a man enters the alley he’s curled up in, trying to sleep off the pain in his side from the beating a couple days before. However, when the man stops directly in front of him, he curls into a tighter ball.

“Go ‘way,” he mumbles.

“I think not.”

There’s a tight grip on his thin arm that jerks him up without warning, eliciting a strangled yelp. “Hush, boy,” the man mutters. Ezra cranes his neck to try and get a good look at him, but the man yanks on his wrist again. “Don’t look your betters in the eye.”

“Then leave me _alone!_ ” he tries to tug away again, only for the man to painfully twist his arm behind his back until Ezra is forced to his knees, eyes watering.

“If you listen to me very carefully, boy, and don’t make a fuss, you will have the opportunity to move up in life,” the man says slowly. Ezra struggles hopelessly again, only for a quick slap to quiet him.

“You will be a _king._ ”

It’s only at that sentence that he stills.

* * *

_Hours Later_

He’s shoved into the carriage, after which the boss climbs in smoothly. The man is fair-skinned with dark hair cut short.

A sharp contrast to Ezra’s too-long mess hanging into his eyes, scars littering his face and arms. The boy feels too dirty for the carriage suddenly, but when he finally decides he’ll jump out and rises to do so, the floor moves underneath him. He falls back onto the seat with a surprised cry.

The boss’s lips curl into a thin smirk.

“Never been in one before, have you?”

Ezra shifts so his back is fully against the wall and shakes his head silently.

“Get used to it. You’ll be in a lot of them soon.”

“Why—”

“You shall soon learn. Your first lesson, however, is _this—_ ” the man leans forward and, in a sudden movement, has a knife up against Ezra’s throat, “—do not question me in _anything._ Have I made myself clear?”

“Ye- yeah,” he whispers.

The man smiles and nods once before pulling back, hiding the knife once more. Ezra’s been thieving for years now and even _he_ can’t tell where the man puts it.

“Good. I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement, my prince.”

Ezra swallows.

“You said I’d be a king, when- when we spoke earlier. And now you’re callin’ me a prince.”

“Yes. And?”

“Wh—never mind.” He cuts himself off, remembering the man’s warning only seconds ago.

The boss smiles. “You’re learning quickly. Good boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” he mutters, lip curling into a snarl.

The boss backhands him before he’s able to duck and he flinches, wincing at the blow. Over the years he’s been alone, he’s noticed that beatings end faster if he acts like he’s hurt worse than he is.

“Second lesson: you are what I say you are. If I tell you you are a king, you are a king. If I tell you you are a servant, you are a servant. If I tell you you are a murderer, you are a murderer. Understood?”

“Yeah,” he says, gaze wary.

“Good. Your third lesson: without me, you are nothing.”


	2. The Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Victim Self-blaming, Blood, Mention of Murder, Child Abuse, Hypothetical Threat of Child Death, Injury (non-graphic), Referenced Manipulation

Ezra returns to the blood-stained throne, sitting with a sigh and gazing over the throne room. The bloodbath ended nearly two hours ago, but he still hasn’t called any guards in yet.

He doesn’t want them to see that he’s become exactly who Maul said he’d be.

He still hasn’t heard any commotion, either, so maybe Kanan’s made it out safely. He hopes so. Someone has to make it back. Someone has to tell the rebellion what happened.

Someone who’s worth saving.

He sighs again, leaning back in the dark stone of the throne and wishing he had more solidified memories from the last two years. But Maul’s been manipulating him for so long now, and especially with his recent discovery….

There’s no way of knowing how much he remembers is real and how much is manufactured anymore.

* * *

_Two Years Earlier_

“You’re improving,” Maul says, smirking as Ezra lunges toward him. The man neatly parries his strike, deflecting Ezra’s sword away and out of his grip. It clatters to the ground several meters away and Maul puts his blade at the boy’s throat. “But not enough, it seems.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just get better. Apologies won’t save you from the executioner’s blade.”

It’s not the first comment he’s made like that. Maul makes comments like that regularly, just often enough to keep Ezra on his toes and wondering.

Ezra nods, swallowing. “Of course.”

Without warning, Maul lunges toward him again. Ezra stumbles backward, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to look for his sabre.

He can’t find it, and Maul’s blade slashes across his arm. Crying out, Ezra stumbles back another step as Maul continues to advance.

“Pathetic. Just find your blade, boy. It shouldn’t be this hard.”

Ezra nods wildly. “Y– yes.”

He whirls, eyes scanning the grass for his sword. Finding it, he dives toward it, knee hitting the ground hard. Wincing, he turns and starts to rise just in time to block Maul’s next blow.

“Good boy. Keep it up.”

Ezra nods, wincing once more, and breaks away. He straightens and backs away, raising his sword warily.

Maul lunges and, in a vicious strike, knocks him down. Ezra bites back a yelp, already flinching back in preparation for the next blow. It doesn’t come.

Blinking, he shields his eyes against the sun and stares up at Maul.

“Inside. That’s enough for now. I need to tend to your arm.”

Ezra nods, pushing himself to his feet as Maul turns and heads back inside the cottage.

Inside, Maul nods to the empty bowl beside a small stack of towels. “Go fill it up.” Ezra does so, limping back outside and pausing briefly to listen to the birds.

He misses the city, but in the capital he would have never been able to have moments like this.

He turns his attention back to the bowl and the well, setting the bowl down before tossing the bucket in. He bites back a whimper as the rope pulls on barely-closed callouses. Finally the bucket reaches the edge and he tugs it close enough he can pour it into the bowl, ignoring the water sloshing over the sides. As long as Maul can’t see it, he’ll be fine.

He heads back inside after dropping the bucket back down, setting the bowl on the table before reaching back to pull the door shut. Maul already has a now-soaked cloth ready and waiting as Ezra pushes his sleeve up.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says, dabbing at the wound. Ezra winces.

“O– okay.”

“Back to the capital. There’s business with the king that needs doing.”

“Okay.” Maul rubs particularly hard at his cut with the cloth and he winces again, starting to pull away. Maul’s grip tightens.

“Don’t,” he warns, voice soft.

Ezra nods and forces himself to relax once more.

“Will you ever take me with you?” Ezra finally risks asking. Maul’s gaze hardens as he ties the bandage too tightly. Ezra bites back a whimper once more.

“I dare you to ask me that once more, boy. Come.” Ezra follows him out to the woods. “Practice your footwork and lunges while I’m gone. Both are hideous. And work on the targets in the forest. I don’t want any of the bullseyes visible through the holes from your sword by the time I get back.”

“Okay.”

“I expect your form to be perfect by the time I return—and for your history studies to be completed as well. If not, we will have a problem.”

Ezra nods. “Of– of course. Can I ask a question?”

“You may.”

“Do you know when you’ll be coming back yet?”

Maul doesn’t respond for a moment, gaze firmly on one of the targets tied to a branch above. The wooden disk twists slightly in the breeze, bumping against a nearby branch with a quiet thud.

“I’ll return when I’m finished,” Maul says. “Soon. You should be ready by then.”

“Ready for what?”

Maul doesn’t answer.

* * *

_Six Months Earlier_

“You’re not improving,” Maul snaps. He lunges, leaving a neat cut on Ezra’s upper arm. “You’re useless.” Another lunge, another cut. “Pathetic.” A third lunge accompanied by a third cut and Ezra finally allows himself to cry out, falling back onto his elbows.

“And a complete and utter _failure,_ ” he finishes, swordpoint at Ezra’s throat. He swallows hard.

“Can I get up, si– sir?”

Maul is silent for far too long. When he finally answers, his usually impassive face is now twisted into a cruel smile.

“No. I want you to stay there, on that ground just like that, and _think_ about your failures.”

“For how long, sir?”

“However long you think that takes.” Maul stalks away without another word and Ezra’s left, panting, on the dirt.

If he gets up too soon, Maul will claim he’s being insolent and give him a worse punishment. But he can’t stay out once it’s dark, either; he’s heard the wolves more than once. And the sun has already started to set.

But his punishment if he goes in early will be a thousand times worse.

Gritting his teeth, he settles in for a long wait.


	3. The Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Child Abuse, Hypothetical Beating, Threat of Death to Child, Hypothetical Starvation

He wants to scream.

He has no clue what’s real anymore, no way of knowing, no way to tell, especially now that he’s sent Kanan off to leave with the others.

He grits his teeth, closing his eyes and _willing himself_ to stay still despite the pain spreading up through his stomach and chest. Don’t give the guards a reason to check. Don’t give them a reason to check.

Don’t give them a reason to fight.

* * *

_Two Years Earlier_

“Why do I need to know so much about culture? It’s not like it’d help me much.”

Maul glares across the table at him, eyebrow raised. “It will, boy. Very soon, your life will be dependent on it. _Trust_ me.”

Ezra rolls his eyes. “I’m not trusting no one who—”

Maul is suddenly right above him, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting it painfully upwards as he yelps and stumbles to his knees.

“Why don’t you repeat yourself?”

“I– I’m not– not trustin’ no—”

Maul twists his arm more and Ezra _shrieks._

“Again. I’ll keep doing it until you get it right.”

Terrified, Ezra continues repeating the phrase, until finally, _finally,_ he manages to drop his accent out of sheer exhaustion. Maul releases his arm and he collapses onto his side, tears springing into his eyes.

“Remember your speech, boy. And tell me who the last three kings of this nation were,” Maul orders, looming above him. Ezra cringes automatically, breathing hard.

“Pl– please...I’m sorry….”

“No apologies, just get better,” he snaps. Ezra nods jerkily. “Now get up, and tell me.”

* * *

_Three Months Later_

“Ah, you must be the prince.” Ezra moves further into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him as a man strides across the room to him. “Kanan Jarrus,” he says, offering a hand.

“Dev,” he says quietly in reply.

“I know who you are; you can drop the act with me,” Jarrus says, shrugging.

Ezra freezes.

“How many other people know about this?” he had asked. Maul hadn’t answered, instead simply saying that the answer was of little consequence.

And here is his swordsmanship instructor, straight up telling Ezra that he _knows._

“I– I don’t know what you’re—“

“You do. I know you’re not really Dev.” Jarrus leans closer, voice dropping. “May the Crimson Dawn light our way.”

Ezra jolts at the phrase, blinking. He takes a step back, moving to grab for his rapier.

Before his fingers even brush the hilt, Jarrus has a sword at his throat.

“I don’t wanna hurt you. I’m with you, and with Maul, I promise. But if you hurt me, then we’re gonna have an issue.”

Ezra nods, swallowing. “Ye– yeah, of course. So– I’ll do better next time. I won’t...I won’t do _that._ ”

Jarrus holds his gaze for a moment before nodding, sheathing his rapier. “Good. Glad that’s settled. Now then, not-Dev...why don’t you walk me through the basic defensive forms?”

Ezra nods, pulling his rapier and starting to go through them. Jarrus begins circling him, in much the same way Maul used to, and nods periodically.

“Good. Arm up more—left, not right, there you go.” Jarrus pauses next to him, gently adjusting his stance before beginning to circle again. “Keep going.”

Ezra does so, eventually falling into the motions and doing them automatically. Jarrus eventually has to stop him again, and a part of Ezra shrinks back, wondering what he’s doing wrong and what the punishment will be.

“Your speed is good, for someone with _experience._ But you don’t have the basics down. You need to focus on those _first,_ not second.”

Ezra nods hurriedly. “Of course, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir, _Your Highness._ ” Ezra blinks, remembering now. That’s right.

He’s the prince.

He nods again. Ezra adjusts his stance again as Jarrus clears his throat. “Start from the top again.”

Ezra’s not sure how many times Jarrus has him go through the stances before the man finally nods, saying, “That’s good for today, you can stop.” Ezra obeys immediately, arms aching and even trembling slightly from not practicing the last few days when Maul had been bringing him to the court. He nods in gratitude, only half-sheathing his rapier just in case it’s a test.

“What else do you need me to do?”

Jarrus raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I said you were good for today. Take a break, kid. You earned it.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything. Better to accept any and all blessings he’s allowed; his year with Maul and years before that on the streets have drilled that message into his mind more than enough.

Still, he’s not quite sure what taking a break even _means._ On the streets, if he took a break, he missed out on food that week. With Maul, taking a break meant a beating, if not worse. So he stands awkwardly, sword half-sheathed, and shuffles his feet as Jarrus sheathes his own blade and moves to the table off to the side of the room.

He glances up at Ezra. “Water?”

“I’m...good, thanks,” he says, sure that it’s just a test to see how weak he is. Jarrus shrugs and nods, pouring himself a glass from the pitcher.

“You can come sit down, you know. A break doesn’t mean you necessarily have to keep standing; I _did_ say we were done for the day, right?”

He nods and approaches, hesitantly pulling out a chair opposite Jarrus. The swordmaster remains on his feet, drinking slowly as Ezra tries to quiet the shaking of his arms.

“Why don’t you sit?” he asks after a while. Jarrus casts him a glance, shrugging.

“It’s not protocol for me to sit unless you invite me. You’re the royalty here, not me.”

Ezra shrugs. “It’s not like we’ve done much ‘protocol’ before this.” Jarrus finally cracks a grin as Ezra nods to the empty chair. “Sit, if you want.”

He does so, setting his cup on the table, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Ezra realizes that he likes it, for once—it’s not the terrifying quiet that is so common with Maul, but he doesn’t feel obligated to fill the emptiness with words, either.

He decides that, as of this first meeting, he likes Jarrus as a teacher.


	4. The Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for "Trail of Blood" for Bad Things Happen Bingo.
> 
> TW: Referenced Child Abuse, Referenced Non-consensual Drugging of a Minor, Blood, Injury (not super graphic), Injury of Animal (again, not super graphic, but), Implied Use of Poison, Hypothetical Animal Death, Dissociation, Victim Self-blaming, Long-term Effects of Gaslighting

Ezra wants—no, he _needs—_ to throw up.

His stomach continues clenching and unclenching painfully and he squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling short, quick breaths. _Just stay quiet. Stay quiet so they won’t come and find you. Stay quiet._

And for once, he almost wishes Maul was drugging him again. At least that way, he was useful.

At least that way, he didn’t start revolutions.

* * *

_Eighteen Months Earlier_

“What’s her name?”

“Hera,” the girl answers, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“I’m the prince,” he says, uncertain if he’s allowed to assert his authority like this. Maul would say he is, of course.

Though Maul would say a lot of things.

“Yeah, and we don’t care about that here. We care about the birds, not the people.” Hera calls something from the other room and the girl brushes past Ezra, ignoring him as she walks into the back room. Ezra sighs in defeat, leaning back against the wall.

After several long minutes, the girl steps back out. “You serious about training that bird?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.”

He follows her past the partition and into the back room, noting the various screeches of a couple of the birds are now at full volume when before they had been much more muffled. “Why are they so loud now?”

“Because of the rugs.” She gestures to the backside of the thick tapestries separating the rooms as she continues to lead him around and through the mews. Finally she stops and he nearly stumbles into her as she nods to the master falconer.

The woman is working on the bird he found, its white feathers stained with blood. At the sight of two more humans it starts to struggle again, screeching and crying so loudly he feels his ears will burst. Hera and the girl, however, barely seem to notice.

“Is it okay?”

“Not yet,” the girl says, voice toneless.

“He will be, soon,” Hera murmurs in reply, gaze trained on one of the bird’s wings.

Ezra watches her for several long minutes, fascinated. She pulls the wing straight, carefully tightening a leather restraint around it as the bird squawks in indignation.

“What’s she doing?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Restraining him, so he can’t hurt her. She needs to get to his stomach and the other wing.”

“What was he attacked by?”

“I don’t know. Be quiet and just _listen._ ”

He nods, suitably cowed, and watches as Hera takes the other wing and a small length of wood. She ties the wing to the wood, loose enough it won’t cut circulation, but tight enough the bird can’t just peck it off. After doing so, she restrains that wing, too, and moves to the stomach.

“Sabine, get the winter cherry.”

“Yeah.” The girl beside Ezra, Sabine, backs up, turning to one of the many shelves nearby and pulling a bundle of leaves off along with a mortar and pestle. Ezra returns his attention to Hera and the bird, watching as she takes a delicate pair of scissors and snips the feathers around the wound on the bird’s stomach.

“Hood,” she calls.

“Get the hood,” Sabine says, tapping Ezra’s shoulder.

“Uh...where is that?”

Sighing, the girl nods to another shelf. “There.”

He nods in thanks, moving to the shelf. There’s a multitude of objects on it, and he glances back uncertainly. “Which one is…?”

Sabine sighs again. “Looks like a cup, or, I dunno, an actual _hood?_ ”

“Oh. Right.” He removes the one matching that description, bringing it to Hera. The woman accepts it and slips it over the bird’s head. Immediately, the raptor quiets, only shifting restlessly when Hera carefully probes the wound. Sabine brings the mortar and pestle over and Ezra watches as Hera begins applying the mixture.

“Will he be all right?” he asks after a long moment of silence.

“We’ll see” is the only answer Hera provides.

* * *

_Fifteen Months Later_

“...Your Highness?”

Ezra can’t move, can’t think, can’t _breathe._ He stays huddled in the corner, legs pressed tight to his chest.

“Your Highness, I have some members of the guard with me. We need to make sure you’re all right.”

He can’t answer Jarrus’s unspoken demands from outside the door and slightly down the hall. His leg still throbs, the slash that cut through the skin and nearly the muscle pulsing like Ekko’s chest feathers after the bird returns from a dive. Ezra barely registers any of that, though.

Only the thought of Maul, casually cleaning off his blade as if it had been used to skin an animal, not to hurt Ezra.

“Dev?”

He still can’t make himself speak. Dimly, he realizes he probably should, but he can’t.

There’s footsteps directly outside his door, and he hears a hushed voice say, “There’s blood here, sir.”

Jarrus swears under his breath, and there’s a loud knock on the door. “Dev, if you’re alive, you need to answer us.”

He can’t.

There’s the noise of wood breaking, and someone breaks the door down. Footsteps, murmured words about a trail of blood as someone stops right outside the closet he’s hidden away in. Someone pulls it open, and Ezra shrinks back from the light. Another person, features silhouetted in the harsh contrast, reaches in and carefully pulls him out.

“Careful, he looks injured,” a voice he doesn’t recognize says.

“Dev? Your Highness?” He turns to look at Jarrus, blinking. “Can you tell us where you’re injured?”

Ezra just starts trembling, remembering the way Maul had sighed as he pulled the blade out, murmuring, “It’s a pity that it had to come to this,” and shakes his head wildly. _Can’t tell him who can’t tell him who can’t tell him who—_

“Dev.”

He blinks again, Jarrus’s voice grounding him once more. “Too...too many people…” he whispers, voice hoarse.

Jarrus turns immediately to the other members of the guard. “Out,” he orders. He waits until all the men have filtered out before turning back to Ezra. “better?” He nods. “Can you tell me what’s wrong now? We need to know so we can move you without injuring you further.”

In answer, Ezra points to his pant leg. Jarrus’s gaze drops to it and he starts to roll it up gradually.

And then he reaches the wound.

Jarrus sucks in a breath through his teeth, glancing up to meet Ezra’s gaze. “Who did this?” Ezra just shrugs. “Did you see them do it?” He hesitates before shaking his head.

 _“You can tell them who did it all you want, but they won’t believe you, boy. Half this court is on_ my _payroll.”_

“Okay. Okay, this...this is fine. Yeah. This is fine.” Jarrus laughs weakly before rising and carefully pulling Ezra to his feet. The boy staggers, nearly collapsing into his teacher’s side. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he murmurs, stroking Ezra’s hair back. “I’ll take you to the physician, okay? And you’ll- he’ll help you. Okay?” Ezra nods weakly, and allows Jarrus to keep supporting most of his weight as he staggers to the doorway, continuing his trail of blood.


	5. The Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Dubiously Consensual Underage Drinking, Alcoholism, Long-term Effects of Gaslighting, Referenced Child Abuse

Ezra should take out someone else.

He should, but he can’t.

He  _ should  _ make his death count for something, something other than just the escape of Kanan and Hera and all the rest of them. Instead, however, he can’t.

He just leans against the wall, grunting as he tries to keep a whimper from surfacing. He can’t let the guards know.

_ Not yet. _

* * *

_ Two Years Ago _

Ezra stares as the woman enters, unable to help it. She exudes an aura of danger stronger even than the one he gets from Maul, and he’s unable to keep from swallowing hard.

“My king,” she says, curtsying to the king before turning to Ezra. “And my prince.” She curtsies to him, too, and he bows the way Maul taught him twenty minutes ago. She approaches, eyeing him with an emotion he doesn’t recognize.

_ “She was engaged to Dev, and she’s  _ still  _ engaged to you. Don’t let on that you’re anyone different.” _

Swallowing hard, he forces a smile. “My- my princess,” he says, hoping she doesn’t notice anything amiss.

“He is still recovering,” Palpatine says from next to him, and she nods.

“Of course, Your Majesty. When I received word of what had happened, I feared the worst. I had to make certain my prince was all right.”

The way she keeps implying possession of him bothers him, but he knows Dev was only too happy about meeting her. He needs to be the same.

“Thank you for your concern,” he forces out.

“If it’s okay with you, Your Majesty, I could maybe assist him with his recovery?”

Palpatine studies her for a moment before nodding. “Of course.”

Smiling, she turns to Ezra. “Well?”

He hesitates before realizing that she’s asking him to take the lead. “Um...this way.” He starts walking, heading vaguely in the direction of the gardens. She’s a princess; she’ll like flowers, right?

On their way out, he can feel Maul’s gaze on them.

* * *

_ Seven Months Later _

Ezra steps into the courtyard without much of a greeting, only nodding when Jarrus raises a hand. He grabs his sword from the rack, turning back to Jarrus in silence.

“What, no banter?” Jarrus offers a smile, but Ezra only shrugs. Spending time with Liana tends to get rid of any desire to speak he had beforehand.

Jarrus studies him for a moment before nodding, unsheathing his own blade. “Defense forms first. Ready, and go.” Ezra jumps into them with a fervor, trying to push away the recurring feeling of Liana’s hand tightening around his wrist when he’d said he was leaving to go to practice.

_ “You’ll remember who’s in charge here, yes?” _

His foot slips and he swings his sword into the next form too fast as a result.

“Again,” Jarrus calls.

He starts from the top again, fighting the urge to close his eyes.  _ You’re fine. You’ve dealt with her before. _

_ “Yes.” _

His thumb slips this time, coming down to slide against the hilt in a way that puts the rest of his grip off balance. Growling, he rushes back into the forms, preferring to focus on the way the blade could slip at any moment and cut his hand clean off rather than on the way Liana had tried to follow him to his quarters and—

“Okay, stop.”

He does so immediately, not realizing just how labored his breathing is until he does so. Jarrus approaches, brow furrowed.

“You’re distracted today. Something on your mind?”

He shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

_ Great, your kriffing accent is coming through now. You really  _ are  _ going to get yourself killed. _

Jarrus’s brow furrows further. “Let’s take a break.”

Sighing in defeat, Ezra brings his sword down and follows Jarrus to the wall, sitting on the ground and leaning back against it as Jarrus drinks from a mug. Something in the yard smells different today, almost sharper, and he’s about to comment on it when Jarrus speaks up first.

“You can talk to me, you know.”

He sighs at that. “No I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.”

The man laughs. “Try me.”

He almost does.

Instead, however, he just shakes his head. “Just...political stuff.”  _ And the fact that you’re going insane. He wouldn’t understand. _

After a minute, Jarrus slides down to sit beside him, taking another long draught from his cup. Ezra shoots him a glance when he realizes that’s where the smell is coming from.

“That’s not water.”

“Definitely isn’t.”

Jarrus drinks again, and they remain silent afterwards this time. Ezra finds himself almost drawn to the drink, and he shoots Jarrus a questioning glance. “Can I…?”

“No. You’re a politician, kid. And you’re technically in the middle of a lesson. You’re not getting drunk on my watch.”

“You’re in the middle of a lesson, too.”

“Yeah, but  _ I’m  _ the one  _ teaching. _ ” Ezra huffs as Jarrus stands, gesturing. “Come on. Ready to try again?”

Ezra gets up, swallowing hard. He raises his sword again, going through the katas a few more times before starting to duel Jarrus.

By the time they’re done, Jarrus is taking another long draught from his cup. Ezra casts him a glance.

“If you don’t want me getting drunk, then why are  _ you _ doing it?”

“Because alcohol makes you relaxed. And you’ve got a pretty good reason to stay on guard, kid.”

_ Like that’s ever helped at all. _

They leave together. Jarrus is still drinking, and he shoots the man a glance.

“If it makes you relaxed, why—”

“It helps you forget a bit, too. But like I said. You have reasons not to.”

Ezra falls silent, still heading in the direction of his quarters until Jarrus splits off.

And then, he heads to Maul’s quarters.

“Come in.”

He opens the door, stepping inside and shutting it. Maul is studying a map on the wall, and he doesn’t look up when Ezra stops beside him.

“What?”

He inhales sharply. “Do you drink?”

Maul turns to him, raising a brow. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“I...I want to. Jarrus said no.”

Maul studies him for a moment before snorting. “Of course he did. He’s too afraid for his own hide. However, here, in private….”

Maul clasps his hands behind his back, striding to a bell on his desk. He rings it, and a servant opens the door moments later.

“His Majesty and I would like a bottle of wine.”

The servant nods, stepping out again. Maul lets the door close fully before turning back to Ezra. “You never drank on the streets?”

He shrugs. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” he muses, and Ezra notices he seems weirdly... _ nice, _ almost.

_ It’s just because he’s letting you drink. Just this once. _

The servant returns, bringing the bottle on a small tray with a pair of goblets. Maul nods to the desk and dismisses him once the tray is set down.

Ezra sits, watching as Maul follows suit opposite him. Maul pours the wine, watching him carefully.

_ “Because alcohol makes you relaxed. And you’ve got a pretty good reason to stay on guard, kid.” _

_ “It helps you forget a bit, too. But like I said. You have reasons not to.” _

“Here.” Ezra takes the chalice, swallowing hard.

“Does it make you relaxed? And- and help you forget?” he blurts out. Maul raises an eyebrow.

“It can.”

That’s enough for him. Ezra swallows it all at once, regretting it as the bitter taste hits him full-on. He chokes it down, coughing. How the kriff do people do this _regularly?_

All the while, Maul watches him with an amused expression, silently nursing his own goblet.

When the feeling has finally subsided, he coughs again, blinking at the warmth in his stomach the feeling has now faded to. His mind feels less sharp than normal, but not enough. Not as much as he  _ needs _ it to be.

“I don’t feel it enough.”

“Give it a moment to—“

He doesn’t wait for Maul to finish before he’s taking the bottle, pouring another glass. Maul goes quiet, watching as Ezra chokes down more of the acrid liquid.

This time, he notices a bigger change.

As the initial bitterness begins to fade, his head feels...fuzzier, somehow. More than after the first drink. In a good way. This must be what Jarrus was talking about.

But he can still remember his most recent beating.

Trying to push the memory away, he pours another.

Maul stops him when he tries to pour his fourth, a light hand on his wrist and a shake of the head. The world shakes along with it, but Ezra pulls backs anyway. “It’ll give you a headache in the morning,” he warns.

Ezra hesitates before deciding three is enough and relenting, though the decision seems to take him longer than normal to make. Maul removes the bottle, setting it below his side of the desk.

“Well?”

Ezra shrugs, trying and failing to ignore the way the world tilts with it. He can’t ignore the roiling of his stomach as much, but that’s nothing compared to the blessed numb. “I can...I can’t remember what I didn’t want to...I think it worked? Feel more...calm, too….” All he remembers is that the beating  _ did  _ happen. He doesn’t remember the pain or the fear from it, though. The wine’s numbed him to that, and it feels good for once. 

Maul nods. “Good. I am...open to you doing this again, however not in public. Only here, with me, or in your own chambers. Understand?”

“‘Course I do.” He frowns at the empty glass, halfway wishing he’d filled it one last time before Maul hid the bottle. But no matter.

Maul opens the desk, pulling out a stack of papers. They look like the ones Maul was trying to have him sign the other day, before he was beaten. He frowns at the thought. “Here,” he says. “I need you to sign these. You might as well attempt productivity.” Ezra takes the quill, not bothering to try reading the first few pages as he signs them haphazardly. The action provides a nice distraction from the memories of the beating. Maul wouldn’t trick him. Maul’s the one who’s keeping the bottle from him in the first place, keeping him from getting sick. Maul  _ cares  _ about him.

The quill runs dry and he moves to dip it in the ink pot again, but he ends up stabbing the side of the pot twice before the feather ends up inside. Satisfied, he moves to bring it out and back to the parchment to sign, only to frown as a large ink blot forms on the paper instead.

Maul sighs, gently taking the quill from him and replacing it. “I think that’s enough for tonight, my king. Come. You should sleep.”

Ezra nods, yawning when he realizes Maul’s right. “Thanks.”

Maul comes around the desk, helping him stand from the chair. The world swims before him, but as much as Ezra blinks, it doesn’t help much. He takes a cautious step forward, then another, and on his third the world becomes dark and he passes out.


	6. The Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for "Mind Games" for Bad Things Happen Bingo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Dubiously Consensual Underage Drinking, Long-term Effects of Gaslighting, Child Abuse, Referenced Child Murder, Implied/Referenced Poisoning, Blood

Ezra slides down the wall, breath catching as his stomach churns again. He tries to ignore it, tries to focus instead on the blood coating the floor. That’s...that’s better than focusing on being poisoned, right? Because maybe if he ignores it, it’ll happen slower.

Maybe if he ignores it, everything will go back to what it was before he killed Maul.

* * *

_Two Years Ago_

Ezra drops from the tree, rubbing the flat of his blade off on his pant leg as he approaches the cluster of bodies. He hesitates by the guard he killed from above, tempted to see if the man has any valuables, but manages to resist. After all, Maul said he wouldn’t need to worry about any of that in a few days. That he could have anything he wanted _without_ needing to scavenge or steal.

He catches sight of a person dressed differently from the guards, the one who’d been just behind Maul, in the middle of the group of riders. He approaches, dropping his sword beside the body and crouching.

Ezra flips the body over.

And nearly vomits.

The now-lifeless face of the person in front of him is almost identical to his own, minus a pair of twin scars on the corpse’s left cheek. Ezra whirls to face Maul, stomach churning.

“What kind of sick joke is this?!” he asks, gesturing to the body as Maul pulls his sword from the second guard. The man only shrugs.

“I don’t see what the joke is. There’s you, and there’s a dead body.”

“Yeah! That’s– that’s– that’s the _exact problem!_ ” He risks another glance back and shudders, forcing himself to turn away again. “He– he looks almost exactly _like_ me!”

“No, you’re missing something,” Maul says quietly, approaching. Warning bells go off but Ezra ignores them.

“I’m not! He’s basically my doppelgänger!”

“There’s one key difference.” Maul taps his own cheek with a finger, still approaching at a languid pace. “He has scars here.”

“So?! He still looks enough like me that he could be my _twin!_ ”

Maul doesn’t reply, only continuing to prowl closer. Ezra finds his gaze drawn back to the corpse’s, breathing hard.

Ezra’s seen death on the streets before. He’s never caused it until today, of course, but that was mostly due to wanting to avoid the anger of those who _were_ capable of killing. He was bothered by it at first, sure, but he hasn’t been in years.

Until now, apparently.

Maul stops beside him. “Look at me.”

He obeys the order, brow furrowing at the expression in Maul’s eyes. He almost seems—

A flash of silver is the only warning he gets before a blade slices his cheek, twice, and he’s stumbling backward as he cries out.

“Maul– what—“

“You have asked me many times in the past months why you are here, what you are being trained for. _This_ is your answer.” Maul gestures to the body that could have easily been his own and Ezra feels chills going up his spine despite the searing pain on his face.

“I don’t– I don’t understand—“

“I have been training you, dear boy, to be a _prince._ And now...it seems all the pieces have fallen into place. We will depart for the capital in two weeks’ time. I expect you to have mastered everything completely by then.”

Maul continues talking, but there’s a ringing in Ezra’s ears that overrides everything else but the pain on his face. _He just murdered the prince. And you helped him._

 _You’re going to impersonate the prince_ for _him._

* * *

_Ten Months Later_

He barges into Maul’s quarters without even knocking, just dropping shakily into the seat opposite the desk where Maul’s reading through reports.

“I need a drink,” he says before Maul can question his presence.

Maul nods, accepting his request without a word and calling for wine. Ezra takes the goblet the moment it’s offered and downs it.

The warmth is there instantly, and with it the sudden calm he’s been craving. There’s been too much today, too much of _everything._ He’s been doing so bad in swordsmanship lately, and Liana’s been suspicious of him, too. And none of that is even _touching_ his recent failures with Maul and the other members of his court.

Maul stops him at two cups this time, and he frowns. The warmth fades, and he wants—he _needs—_ it back. “Why...why can’t….” His frown deepens at his inability to get the words out. Maul sighs.

“You passed out last time, my prince. You’re staying at two until you can handle yourself like an _adult._ ”

Ezra scowls. “‘m sixteen,” he mutters. “Basically an adult.”

“But you are not _acting_ like one.” Before he can object, Maul clears his throat and straightens his stack of papers. “I need you to read through and sign these.”

“Don’ wanna.”

“It's only a few pages. And if you’d rather just sign them instead of reading them all the way throu—“

Ezra pulls the papers toward himself, taking the quill and starting to sign them without even glancing at the words. His signature gets sloppier as he goes but every time he tries to fix it it just gets worse. Finally he sighs in frustration, nearly throwing the quill back into the ink pot before pushing the papers back to Maul. “There.”

The man nods, carefully straightening the papers again before moving them off to the side. Ezra can’t bother himself to watch as he does so, his gaze instead flitting around the room.

“Why’d you find me on the street?” he asks after what seems like hours of silence. “I coulda been a murderer and killed you.”

“Far from it, my prince,” Maul says with a quiet snort. “You were curled in an alley. And I did it to serve my own ends.”

“I don’ think they really got served much,” he replies, frowning in thought as he stares at the map of the kingdom Maul has on the wall. “Wha’ were they anyway? Thought you wanted me to be prince.”

“You’ll understand eventually.” He casts a glance back at Maul to see the man pulling out a drawer.

“Wha’s in there?”

“Nothing important,” Maul says, and Ezra just shrugs and accepts the answer. Maul wouldn’t lie to him.

Ezra’s gaze skims the map, trying to trace the bold lines on it before giving up in favor of just looking at whatever point is currently piquing his interest. “Why d’you have a map?” he finds himself asking.

“It’s easier to stay on top of the crown’s victories that way, my prince.” Ezra nods, accepting the answer, and there’s silence once again.

“Wha’ was the king sick from?”

The shuffling of papers stops and he glances at Maul to find the man still. “He was getting on in years,” the regent says slowly.

“Seemed kinda healthy to me.”

“People die when they get old, Dev.”

“He didn’ seem too old.”

There’s a sigh before the shuffling of papers continues. “It is of no matter, my prince. Find something else to occupy your thoughts.”

Ezra tries. He really, _really_ tries. But instead, his mind keeps circling back to vague half-memories from months ago.

_“Drink this,” Maul says, handing him a cup. He does, swallowing it with a shudder._

_“Tastes disgusting.”_

_Maul smiles. “It will improve your focusing abilities.”_

_Swords crossing with Jarrus before Ezra suddenly stumbles to a stop, head pounding._

_“Are you okay, kid?”_

_“Yeah, it’s...it’s just really hot out here. I’ll be fine in a minute, I just need a breather. Can I...go– go sit down inside for a second? It’s kinda bright out here, too.” He shields the sun with a hand._

_Maul raises an eyebrow as he trips on his way out of the throne room. “Are you okay, my prince?”_

_“F- fine,” he says, trying to smile despite the pounding in his head. “My head’s just...I’m just a little dizzy. I’m fine.”_

Ezra comes back to reality with a groan, feeling Maul pull him to his feet. “Wha’s….”

“You tried to stand and run out, my prince. Not the best idea for one still so new to drinking.”

Ezra blinks, rubbing his eye blearily. Why had he tried to run? Maybe he’d just gotten up from his chair….That was it, yeah. His stomach churns and he grimaces, staggering back to said chair. It takes him two tries to sit, and by then his head is pounding.

Maul hands him a goblet. “Wha’s in there?”

“Drink, my prince,” Maul says. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Maul’s done a lot of things, but Maul wouldn’t lie to him. Nodding, Ezra takes the cup and drinks.


End file.
